The Okaeri to my Tadaima
by Julyuu
Summary: And as he pressed his body against hers, he knew that he should welcome her back, because as much as she's the 'okaeri' to his 'tadaima', it's the same for her.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own. Naruto. [but I wish I do,sobs.]

The _okaeri_ to my _tadaima_

_._

_._

_._

Opening the door, she's greeted by the darkness and coldness and silence lingering in the house. _'It's the same,'_ she muses every single time. But she sucked it up, and places her shoes in the cupboard, top right of the second shelf, next to her nin-sandal she wears during mission as a jounin, when she's off the duty of a medic-nin, the Chief of Special Treatment Department of Konoha Hospital.

She'll drop her bag and sometimes her files or tons of charts and medical scrolls on the foyer table, glimpses at her reflection on the mirror she kept pestering him to buy for her. _"But it'll go well with the mahogany table, Sasuke-kun!" _and a little pout with puffed cheeks and he finally sighed and nodded at the shopkeeper, and shook his head when she can't decide how many inches should the mirror be from the table.

Then proceed her way to the kitchen, where she'll put on her pale blue apron and took out her prized non-stick pans and woks and spatulas and Kobe knives that she longed for about a week before it came to the house, with a little _'You're so obvious,'_ note stuck in between the compartments.

She'll finish cooking and cleaning the countertops and the knives and setting up the table for dinner, before she went upstairs, grabbing her bag and files and charts and medical scrolls, and put it in her office, next to his, and scalds off her clothes and stepped into the bathroom for a nice hot bath with aromatherapy shower gel and shampoo and massages her sore muscles and calves, and pressed the fresh towel to the back of her neck.

She'll put on her silk robe, picking up the colour based on her mood; blue when she's calm, pastel when she's serene, red when she's adventurous, black when she's mad and white when she misses him. And tonight it seems that she misses him a bit. She'll comb her hair that barely passes her shoulder, and clip a part with her colourful flower clips, or simply pull them back with a chopstick-like clip or she'll just let it be as it is, framing her delicate face.

Squirting her strawberry-scented lotion, (or sometimes cherry-scented and the rare sakura-scented on special occasions,) on her hands and rubbing it on the palms and arms and legs and foot, even though it's not necessary, considering how people (mostly her patients and nurses and Ino-pig and Naruto and the kid down the street) says her skin is smooth and soft (and _"feel like ramen, Sakura-chan!"_ which was usually followed with a bonk on the head or a cold glare from Hinata-chan). But she still uses it, because it's her own satisfaction and hopefully his too.

The approaching chakra was her cue, and she'll look at her reflection once again before making her way down the marbled stairs (_"the wood-floor is outdated, Sasuke-kun!"_) and stand next to the France doormat, (_"the cream one, please, Sasuke-kun?"_) and tucks a stray strand of hair back behind her ears, and glue her eyes to the big door.

And slowly, and silently, it'll crack open, the slow chime of silver flutes ring beneath the crack, and he'll be there, entering the now lighted and warm house. Slowly, and silently, he'll raise his chin, and meet her eyes. Slowly, and silently, he'll say _"Tadaima,"_ and took off his nin-sandals, and place his kunai pouch on the shoe cupboard, eyes still boring into hers.

And she'll smile, her small, sweet, serene, heart-wrenching smile, and slowly, and silently, she'll reply her soft _"Okaeri,"_ and then she'll smile her full, cheery, bright, jubilant smile and add her trademark _"Sasuke-kun,"_ to it.

In a spilt second she found herself crushed against his chest, one hand possessively wrapped around her waist, another one on the small of her back, pushing her closer to him. She'll hear his ragged breathing, and fast heartbeat, and she'll listen, and listen, until his breath warms her cheek, and his heartbeat thumping the same soft and consistent pace as hers.

She'll took off his jounin vest, or sometimes his ANBU gear, and put away his katana and took his hand and lead him to kitchen, where she'll serve him and took a seat across from him, and told him how her day went, and offers some questions for him to answer with his short, curt replies.

But that's enough, because soon she'll find herself wiping the dishes, and right before she places the last China, ("_I like the green-patterned one, Sasuke-kun. Ah, can we get the ones with gold finishing too?"_) his bigger hands will put it away, and she'll be in his strong arms again, his head buried at her neck. He'll place soft kisses down the spot of her neck, sometimes he'll nip and bit her tenderly, possessively, marking her for all her worth, and tightens his hold on her, taking her right there and then, or make his way to the living room where he'll crush her petite body on the couch, or when he's patience enough they'll end up in their bedroom, they always do, cause he'll take her in the bedroom too.

That's what usually happens, when she'll be home before him, greeted by the dark and cold house, where she'll lighted it up and spread her warmth around the house, and she'll wait for him at the same spot.

But there are times when she was late, and she was still greeted by the darkness and coldness and the ear-splitting silence of the house. Only colder, and darker, and the silence is more deafening.

Still, her slow and silent _"Tadaima,"_ followed by her soft, comforting _"Sasuke-kun,"_ will be replied, with two strong arms around her torso, his nose buried in her hair. She's not clad in her silk robes; she's not covered by the lingering scent of aromatherapy shower gel and shampoo, or her skin smooth from her scented lotions, her hair's not clipped with flower clips or chopsticks clip but he still hold her in his arms.

He'll place a tender kiss and the corner of her mouth, and rests his forehead against her, and stared at her jade orbs, drowning her into his endless pool of black eyes. And slowly, and silently, with his ragged breath and frantic heartbeat, he'll whisper to her ear, softly, gently, and lovingly, his _"Okaer_i," with his slightly trembling voice and tightens his hold on her as his raspy _"Sakura,"_ follows.

Because she's the _okaeri_ to his _tadaima_, and he's scared of being greeted by the darkness and coldness and silence, he'll wait, wait by the doormat, the same place she waits for him, and lunges at her when he heard her soft, soft _"tadaima, Sasuke-kun,"_ and tell himself, _'she's here, she's here, she's back'_. And as he pressed his body against hers, he knew that he should welcome her back, because as much as she's the _okaeri _to his _tadaima_, it's the same for her.

Because he's the _okaeri_ to her _tadaima_, too.

.

.

.

.

And because he needs to apologize for not making dinner too.


	2. revised version

Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own. Naruto. [but I wish I do,sobs.]

**This is a revised version, thanks to some people whose kind enough to point my mistakes. Thank you . [bows 90 degree]**

The _okaeri_ to my _tadaima_

_._

_._

_._

Opening the door, she's greeted by the darkness and coldness and silence lingering in the house. _'It's the same,'_ she muses every single time. But she sucked it up, and placed her shoes in the cupboard, top right of the second shelf, next to her nin-sandal she wears during mission as a jounin, when she's off the duty of a medic-nin, the Chief of Special Treatment Department of Konoha Hospital.

She'll drop her bag and sometimes her files or tons of charts and medical scrolls on the foyer table, glimpsed at her reflection on the mirror she kept pestering him to buy for her. _"But it'll go well with the mahogany table, Sasuke-kun!"_and a little pout with puffed cheeks and he finally sighed and nodded at the shopkeeper, and shook his head when she can't decide how many inches should the mirror be from the table.

Then proceeded her way to the kitchen, where she'll put on her pale blue apron and took out her prized non-stick pans and woks and spatulas and Kobe knives that she longed for about a week before it came to the house, with a little _'You're so obvious,'_ note stuck in between the compartments.

She'll finish cooking and cleaning the countertops and the knives and setting up the table for dinner, before she went upstairs, grabbing her bag and files and charts and medical scrolls, and put it in her office, next to his, and scalded off her clothes and stepped into the bathroom for a nice hot bath with aromatherapy shower gel and shampoo and massages her sore muscles and calves, and pressed the fresh towel to the back of her neck.

She'll put on her silk robe, picking up the colour based on her mood; blue when she's calm, pastel when she's serene, red when she's adventurous, black when she's mad and white when she misses him. And tonight it seems that she missed him a bit. She'll comb her hair that barely passes her shoulder, and clipped a part with her colourful flower clips, or simply pulled them back with a chopstick-like clip or she'll just let it be as it is, framing her delicate face.

Squirting her strawberry-scented lotion, (or sometimes cherry-scented and the rare sakura-scented on special occasions,) on her hands and rubbing it on the palms and arms and legs and foot, even though it's not necessary, considering how people (mostly her patients and nurses and Ino-pig and Naruto and the kid down the street) says her skin is smooth and soft (and _"feel like ramen, Sakura-chan!"_ which was usually followed with a bonk on the head or a cold glare from Hinata-chan). But she still uses it, because it's her own satisfaction and hopefully his too.

The approaching chakra was her cue, and she'll look at her reflection once again before making her way down the marbled stairs (_"the wood-floor is outdated, Sasuke-kun!"_) and stood next to the France doormat, (_"the cream one, please, Sasuke-kun?"_) and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ears, and glue her eyes to the big door.

And slowly, and silently, it'll crack open, the slow chime of silver flutes ring beneath the crack, and he'll be there, entering the now lighted and warm house. Slowly, and silently, he'll raise his chin, and meet her eyes. Slowly, and silently, he'll say _"Tadaima,"_ and took off his nin-sandals, and placed his kunai pouch on the shoe cupboard, eyes still boring into hers.

And she'll smile, her small, sweet, serene, heart-wrenching smile, and slowly, and silently, she'll reply her soft _"Okaeri,"_ and then she'll smile her full, cheery, bright, jubilant smile and add her trademark _"Sasuke-kun,"_ to it.

In a spilt second she found herself crushed against his chest, one hand possessively wrapped around her waist, another one on the small of her back, pushing her closer to him. She'll hear his ragged breathing, and fast heartbeat, and she'll listen, and listen, until his breath warms her cheek, and his heartbeat thumping the same soft and consistent pace as hers.

She'll took off his jounin vest, or sometimes his ANBU gear, and put away his katana and took his hand and lead him to kitchen, where she'll serve him and took a seat across from him, and told him how her day went, and offered some questions for him to answer with his short, curt replies.

But that's enough, because soon she'll find herself wiping the dishes, and right before she placed the last China, ("_I like the green-patterned one, Sasuke-kun. Ah, can we get the ones with gold finishing too?"_) his bigger hands will put it away, and she'll be in his strong arms again, his head buried at her neck. He'll place soft kisses down the spot of her neck, sometimes he'll nip and bit her tenderly, possessively, marking her for all her worth, and tightens his hold on her, taking her right there and then, or make his way to the living room where he'll crush her petite body on the couch, or when he's patience enough they'll end up in their bedroom, they always do, cause he'll take her in the bedroom too.

That's what usually happens, when she'll be home before him, greeted by the dark and cold house, where she'll lighted it up and spread her warmth around the house, and she'll wait for him at the same spot.

But there are times when she was late, and she was still greeted by the darkness and coldness and the ear-splitting silence of the house. Only colder, and darker, and the silence is more deafening.

Still, her slow and silent _"Tadaima,"_ followed by her soft, comforting _"Sasuke-kun,"_ will be replied, with two strong arms around her torso, his nose buried in her hair. She's not clad in her silk robes; she's not covered by the lingering scent of aromatherapy shower gel and shampoo, or her skin smooth from her scented lotions, her hair's not clipped with flower clips or chopsticks clip but he still hold her in his arms.

He'll place a tender kiss and the corner of her mouth, and rest his forehead against her, and stared at her jade orbs, drowning her into his endless pool of black eyes. And slowly, and silently, with his ragged breath and frantic heartbeat, he'll whisper to her ear, softly, gently, and lovingly, his _"Okaer_i," with his slightly trembling voice and tightened his hold on her as his raspy _"Sakura,"_ follows.

Because she's the _okaeri_ to his _tadaima_, and he's scared of being greeted by the darkness and coldness and silence, he'll wait, wait by the doormat, the same place she waits for him, and lunged at her when he heard her soft, soft _"tadaima, Sasuke-kun,"_ and tell himself, _'she's here, she's here, she's back'_. And as he pressed his body against hers, he knew that he should welcome her back, because as much as she's the _okaeri_to his _tadaima_, it's the same for her.

Because he's the _okaeri_ to her _tadaima_, too.

.

.

.

.

And because he needs to apologize for not making dinner too.


End file.
